The Best of All Lies
by silverglitters
Summary: In a world where every person has the name of their destined soulmate on their palm, Tezuka and Fuji meet and fall in love. There's just one problem - they're not soulmates.
1. first year

**AN:** I'm so sorry I have been non-existent in quite a really long while :( I have been SMOTHERED by med school, and most days all I can think about are case studies and diseases (I have become quite the successful hypochondriac) and OHMYGODPLEASELETMESLEEPIWILLDIE.

But I've been writing in my (mythical) free time, and while none of the other chapters of my current stories that I've been snail-writing are good enough to actually publish, I have this with me. Sort of.

This idea stuck to me and kept EATING away and I just had to write it. It's about three chapters, although the third one's sort of more like an epilogue, really. So. Please enjoy.

**Warnings **(for this fic): It's fantastical and the timeline is seriously screwed in some places, so I ask you guys to please suspend reality for quite a bit while reading this. Be sufficiently warned.

**The Best of All Lies**

* * *

**one.**

**first year**

* * *

Fuji Syusuke meets him on his freshman year in Seigaku. It's inevitable, because he is someone who cannot be missed (and he still isn't, Fuji's sure), not with his strong presence and calculating eyes that are considerably far too wise for a boy of twelve, maybe thirteen.

Back then, he hasn't quite grown into himself just yet – short for his age with brand new glasses he looks like he hasn't gotten the hang of wearing. Fuji watches him covertly, from behind closed lids while his brand new best friend of one day, Eiji, is talking to him and the boy with the strange hairstyle that Eiji's introduced as his soulmate. Fuji watches the sun catch the brilliant hazel color of his eyes, watches the breeze play lightly with his tousled hair. He doesn't smile, and somehow, to Fuji, that only makes him look even more welcoming.

He glances briefly on his palm, on the name written there that only he can see and no one else. It's written in a script that's not Fuji's own, a script that Fuji will one day be looking at for the rest of his life. He's memorized the name that's written there, has known it since the day when he first realized what it really represents. He folds his fingers over it, and watches the handsome boy with the tousled hair and hazel eyes whose name he doesn't even know.

Eiji is beckoning him closer, and Fuji feels hopeful.

_He looks like a Keigo_.

Later, when Fuji is alone, he tries to tell himself that he imagined that moment of crushing disappointment once he's found that Tezuka's name was not the name that he wanted.

He succeeds until he doesn't.

(It's rather pathetic - how it doesn't take him very long.)

.

Everyone that's ever born in the world has a soulmate. The names on people's palms go back, way, _way_ back, even before history started recording their presence. It's just there, and scientists like to explain them away with smart words like _evolution_ and _adaptation_ – that somehow, the genetic code is all-knowing and godlike that it can even give you the best chance of finding the perfect fit.

Fuji is ten when he decides to stop listening to all this bullshit. Because it _is_ bullshit. The scientists don't know what they're talking about; after years and years of research, they're still just as clueless as Fuji is.

He _knows_ this, the soulmate marks aren't a _chance_. They're just another limitation that binds everybody, that humans can't run away from. They only take away yet another choice they could have been making in this life.

_If humans were born to love, why can't they choose? _

_Why did something have to tell them who they should and shouldn't love? _

_Why did the universe feel the need to dictate this, too?_

He tells all this to Yumiko, who gives him one long grown-up look, then smiles gently, lovingly gathers him into her arms and calls him her darling boy. Her voice cracks, like she's holding her tears at bay but failing.

It's not until he grows up that he understands what Yumiko can do, and why what she saw made her sad.

.

"I don't think they even realize that we're still here."

Fuji steals a glance at Tezuka's impassive face. He looks like he hasn't moved at all since the last time Fuji's stolen a glance, but it's still a far sight better than having to watch Oishi and Eiji be all over each other. The story goes that they are soulmates that found each other very young, the lucky bastards. Fuji doesn't quite eat that story up as much as the next starry-eyed girl, because if they _had_ found each other at five, wouldn't they be able to stand not being codependent by now? They are _twelve_.

Tezuka grunts, but it's easy to tell that's he's just about as exasperated as Fuji is. He glances at the soulmates across the booth from them again and – "...Are they _feeding_ each other?"

Tezuka shrugs, looks down at his own green tea ice cream. He brushes Fuji's shoulders slightly when he moves, and Fuji resists the urge to touch that spot, feel that blooming warmth himself. "It's a thing of theirs," Tezuka says.

"I noticed," Fuji replies dryly, though he's still smiling. "They have a lot of things."

Tezuka grunts again. For a while, there's only comfortable silence interrupted by the occassional 'Say ahhh~' from Eiji as he feeds his blushing-but-still-grinning soulmate strawberry ice cream.

"Maybe we should get our own thing," he muses, swinging his legs back and forth in his seat. "Like coffee, maybe? Before practice in the morning?"

Tezuka blinks at him. "Coffee is everyone's thing," he informs Fuji solemnly.

It's a very grown-up thing to say. Fuji assesses him quietly as he says it, they're close enough that he could see the golden flecks in Tezuka's eyes. They're breathtaking to look at, even now. "Not if you're British."

Tezuka smiles a little, a brief upturn of the corner of his lips. It rearranges his features, almost, makes him look younger, more open. Fuji can only just barely stop looking at him.

"Or Japanese, maybe," Tezuka answers. They both grin at each other, over a shared joke probably only they can understand.

It's not the beginning of a love story.

But it's enough.

.

As breathtaking as Tezuka is, it's even more breathtaking to watch him play tennis. There's a pureness to it, peerless in its passion, even as Tezuka holds back. Even restrained, _incomplete_ like this, it fills Fuji with such thrill that makes him question whether, before this day, he'd really, truly been _alive_.

"You didn't have to stay, you know."

It's late afternoon, and he and Tezuka are still stuck in the tennis courts, picking up balls. Not even a few months into the school year, and Tezuka's somehow managed to find himself an enemy to more than half of their seniors.

It must be a talent, Fuji muses, looking up from where he's crouched down a few feet away from Tezuka, picking up the last few strays he's missed. It's either that or believe that the members of the well-renowned Seigaku tennis club could be so shallow and bitter that they'd try to impede the growth of their juniors, instead of encouraging it.

He hums to show that he's paying attention.

Tezuka sighs, wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "This is my punishment, not yours." He looks back down and repeats, "You didn't have to stay."

Fuji smiles, despite himself. "Ne, Tezuka-kun," he calls, waiting until Tezuka looks up and meets his eyes. He smiles until he can feel his eyes crinkle. "You're really left-handed, aren't you?"

Tezuka startles, though only in minimal movements. Fuji's so used to watching him that he can easily notice. He doubts anyone else can. "How...?" Tezuka's brow furrows slightly, adorably. "How did you know? Not even Ryuzaki-sensei knows."

"You're good," Fuji says. "You would have very easily won if you used your left hand."

It's not an answer. Tezuka looks unsatisfied, but that's all Fuji's willing to offer right now. Not when he knows that the other question, the one on the tip of his tongue will go unanswered by Tezuka, too.

Tezuka opens his mouth; Fuji cuts him off. "It's late. We should go home."

Tezuka shoots him a look he doesn't understand, and for a moment, Fuji is tempted to risk asking anyway. But it's only for a moment, and it's broken far too easily. Tezuka walks away, Fuji follows him. He watches their shadows mingle in the light of the setting sun, sometimes fusing into one so it's hard to tell which one belongs to who.

Fuji smiles at their shadows wistfully. If only things were that easy.

.

Fuji dreams of Tezuka, and Tezuka's tennis. He wakes up sometimes, with the same question niggling his brain, swirling over and over, like a piece of a puzzle he couldn't quite fit.

During the days, he waves to Tezuka when he sees him in the halls, smiles and makes mostly one-sided conversations. He gets to know Tezuka, delights when Tezuka lets him in, even as he puts up his barriers to everyone else.

Tezuka is passionate, so deeply passionate, single-mindedly working for a purpose, a goal. And Tezuka loves tennis more than anything, perhaps maybe even more than he will love his soulmate, though Fuji cannot judge.

He's not whimsical like Fuji, whose goals are as interchangeable as his long-term interests. (Sometimes, they're even non-existent.)

_So why Tezuka-kun? Why do you hold yourself back?_

It plagues Fuji even as he smiles, steals one of Tezuka's sushi, and coats it in so much wasabi, it's probably unedible to anyone else. He laughs when Tezuka glares, he can see in Tezuka's eyes that he's moved on, so used to Fuji's antics by now.

Later, he stares out of the window of his class and sighs. He can't say it, after all.

* * *

"Play a match with me."

Fuji is as mysterious as he is beautiful. Tezuka blinks at his request, complete with the sweet, disarming smile that allows people to dismiss him as harmless. They're wrong, Tezuka knows, because Fuji is far smarter than any adult would ever give him credit for. Tezuka also knows that Fuji gets a kick out of making them squirm, and getting away with it.

Tezuka almost thoughtlessly says _yes_, is almost willing to do anything, agree to anything to make Fuji pleased. Such is the nature of Fuji's beauty – a face that would make even the angels of western literature weep. It's a weapon in itself, and Fuji knows well how to use it.

"First years aren't allowed to play, Fuji," he says, after many internal battles. It's the responsible thing to do, Tezuka tells himself, even as he fights against the very, very, _very_ strong temptation to give in.

"Not in _practice_," Fuji insists.

His wide eyes are so _blue_, like the sky and ocean, and Tezuka soars in them and drowns in them all at once, doesn't think anyone can look at Fuji's eyes and not be pulled in.

Tezuka is agreeing before he can even think about it.

Fuji breaks into a breathless smile, and laughter falls from his lips like pure water from the stream, tinkling, shimmering, making the surroundings suddenly lighter. He's beautiful like this, when he's real and raw and unguarded. His eyes - singlehandedly the most expressive part of him - sparkle like diamonds, like somehow they've captured all the shining stars of the galaxy in their depths.

He grabs Tezuka's hand in both of his. They are soft and slender and warm against his skin. He tells Tezuka when and where, but most of Tezuka's attention is focused somewhere else, where Fuji is squeezing Tezuka's hand gently.

Later, once Fuji's said goodbye and glided down the hallway, Tezuka looks down at the hand that Fuji's grasped. It feels as though it should have been changed somehow, changed by Fuji's touch.

The name of his soulmate stares back at him, and he closes his fingers over it because he doesn't want to see.

.

Of course, like many things Tezuka wants in his life, it doesn't really work out at all.

Tezuka feels the pain shooting up his arm, even before he's really aware of what is happening. He gasps against it, his body trembling, trying to deal with the _mind-numbing_ agony that all concentrated on one spot.

Tezuka remembers starting tennis when he was seven. Since then, he's been pouring all his blood, his sweat, his strength, his _dreams_ to this sport. He's trained, joined competitions, bought magazines, dedicated most of his life to enhancing himself _for_ it.

Morbidly, Tezuka wonders, as he sinks to the ground clutching his arm, throbbing and aching and _hurtshurtshurtsmakeitstop_... he wonders if these seniors know that it's taken them five seconds to destroy what took Tezuka five years to build.

.

Despite the near _crippling_ pain, Tezuka decides to play with Fuji anyway.

Years after, he will think that it's the best and worst decision of his life.

.

Fuji's anger can move mountains, make it bow down to his will from the force of it alone. His eyes flash in the light, steely, hot like blue lightning, and as he stalks toward Tezuka like an avenging angel, Tezuka finds himself unable to move.

He's yelling, yelling at Tezuka, so angry he's crumpled the front of Tezuka's shirt in his fists. He shakes with livid rage, the afternoon light like a backdrop, a halo, lighting up his normally honey hair like a match does the flame.

But Tezuka can can only pay that so much attention, because even in his anger, Fuji is beautiful. He is beautiful anywhere, anytime, in any light. There is no need for any quantifiers or any conditions – there is only the knowledge that in every sense, and in every meaning of the word, Fuji is _beauty_.

His heart clenches, even though Tezuka can't tell anyone what for.

* * *

It's a choice, Fuji realizes, because you always have a choice.

Right now, as he watches Tezuka struggle with his broken arm, held back beyond his control, Fuji feels like he wants to break down. He can feel the tears at the back of his lids, the sobs at the back of his throat, chokes on them.

So Fuji chooses to be angry, because he doesn't want to cry.

.

Fuji's best friend Kojiroh finds his soulmate young, too.

They're eleven when a girl tranfers into their school from somewhere in Hokkaido. She's terribly normal, with brown eyes and brown hair that's cut into a bob and curls into her jaw. She has boring interests and interprets rules so literally, it's silly.

She also has Kojiroh's name on her palm, in Kojiroh's own handwriting, just like Kojiroh's had hers ever since he'd been born.

Kojiroh thinks she's the most fascinating person in the world. (She's not.)

Slowly, very slowly, she cuts him off one by one from all the other people in his life. Kojiroh goes along with her, looks entirely blissful and content with having his entire _world_ revolve around her, and tells Fuji that later, he'll find his own soulmate and he'll understand.

Fuji goes home that day, spends all his time staring at _Atobe Keigo_'s name on his palm, and wonders how it will feel to love someone so intensely, they're the only thing that exist.

Fuji doesn't understand.

When he thinks about it, all he feels is miserable and lonely.

* * *

"It'll be okay," Tezuka says in the silence that engulfs them both.

It's been over a week since the disaster that was That Game. They don't speak of it, even when they find themselves together. There are things that should be kept in the past, that should stay in the memories that haunt in the dark of the night.

Fuji opens his eyes and stares at Tezuka for a very long time. Tezuka resists the urge to fidget in his gaze. He feels as if Fuji could _see_ him, see beyond the barriers that Tezuka's kept up against most everyone in his life. As if Fuji could see his doubts, that even with the doctor's almost forced optimism, Tezuka may very well never reach his full potential in tennis again.

Fuji's eyes flutter close after what feels like an eternity. "Then let's play once more," he says, softly. "Someday, when your arm heals completely, let's play once more."

He says nothing else, he doesn't need to. Tezuka understands, without even having him say it.

_You've found your limits. Now break them. Push, Tezuka._

Fuji grins at him, settling his chin on his upturned palm. "Don't let your guard down, ne, _buchou_?"

"Fuji," Tezuka blushes despite himself, and expends all energy so he can fight it down. "Don't call me that. I'm not the captain."

"Yet," Fuji replies easily, unperturbed, eyes opening once again. "But you will be."

The blue pierces Tezuka with their sharpness. _Push_.

* * *

Somehow, they really do end up having a thing. It's after practice and not coffee, because coffee shouldn't be everyone's thing. They end up in Eiji and Oishi's ice cream place, which Tezuka turns up his nose at, and Fuji laughs because _gods_ if nothing could be more hilariously ironic. Tezuka doesn't, mostly because Fuji refuses to explain his reasoning.

Fuji finds that he likes having things (with _Tezuka_, although he's ignoring that).

"So, who's the name on your palm anyway?" he asks one day, trying for genuinely curious and not pushing. It's an intimate question, a discussion one has only with people one is really close to. Everybody likes to keep their soulmates for their own, at least until they've found them. It's a sacred link; it makes sense that it's also a sacred topic.

Tezuka stares at his palm for a very long time, until his ice cream (green tea, like always) starts to melt. He startles at the touch of the cool droplets on his hand, and Fuji wonders if he's overstepped.

He starts to say, "You don't have to say, if you don't-"

"Echizen," Tezuka cuts him off, voice quiet. "Echizen Ryoma."

Fuji cocks his head to the side. "Hmmm," he hums thoughtfully. "Like Samurai Nanjiroh?"

"Maybe."

Fuji bites his lip, because he feels like he can't say anything appropriate in this line of conversation any longer.

They sit in silence for a while until finally, Tezuka asks, "And you?"

Fuji looks down at his own hand, like he doesn't remember, like the name doesn't haunt him at night, like it's not imprinted into his very _essence_.

Like he doesn't despair at night, when he longs for someone different, all the while feeling like he's hurting some phantom person, who's probably waiting and hoping, maybe desperately, for the perfect match of his soul.

"Atobe Keigo," he says. It's easy when he says it, his lips were meant to shape these words.

But it hurts him too, because there's another name he wishes were just as easy to say.

Tezuka raises his brow. "Like _The Atobe Corporation_?"

Fuji blinks, pulls himself away from his musings. "Huh," he breathes. "I never actually made that connection."

"They're the richest company in Japan," Tezuka informs him, like Fuji has no idea. He does, he just _never made the connection_, because really, what are the odds?

He lets his lips spread into a sly teasing smile. "So, between the two of us, we have the famous tennis pro's son who is probably filthy rich, and the prominent businessman's son, also filthy rich," he summarizes. "Saa, Tezuka, we're set for life."

Tezuka gives him an incredibly unimpressed glare, which he laughs really hard at. Hysterically. It's the only thing that allows him to swallow down the sudden wave of misery that's threatening to overwhelm him. "Don't look at me like that," he says between laughs. "Think about it – what are you gonna do, when you're rich and famous?"

Tezuka's glare doesn't let up, and it only makes Fuji even more hysterical. "I'll start you up," he offers. "When I'm rich, I'm buying millions of rare cacti."

Tezuka blinks. "You're serious," he says dryly, although it also sounds like an extremely condescending question.

"Just think about thousands upon thousands of those darlings in their pots," Fuji sighs into his daydreams teasingly.

"You're seriously spending your money on _cacti_."

"Millions of them," Fuji pauses, and then smiles. "With fancy pots."

Tezuka looks like he's seriously contemplating on laughing at Fuji for his silliness. Fuji can see it in his eyes and he pouts. "Well, what about you, huh?" he retorts. "Doubt you can get anything better than _cacti_."

"When I'm rich," Tezuka pauses thoughtfully. "I'll probably get a collection of bonsai."

It's Fuji's turn to blink, because _seriously_. "Bonsai."

"But only a greenhouse of them, maybe," Tezuka continues, looking at Fuji pointedly.

"You don't have a greenhouse," Fuji shoots back.

Tezuka shrugs uncaringly. "I'm rich, aren't I?" he asks. "I'll get one."

"So if you can get bonsai, how come I can't get my cacti?"

"Because a bonsai is proud and noble."

"Well, I can get the cactus a noble pot, Tezuka!"

For a few moments, after Fuji's outburst, they stare at each other, until they both burst out laughing. It's a childish argument to have, and it's silly to be having this conversation at all, but they both know that this isn't going to last, that they won't have forever to have childish arguments. It will never be _when we're rich_ because they don't have a future, not together. So Fuji just laughs harder, smiles brighter, opens his eyes and lets Tezuka _see_. And in return he sees Tezuka, too, so he milks this moment for as much as he can, drinking and drowning and basking in Tezuka's warmth.

.

He cries that night, cries long and hard, sobbing _I'm sorry_ over and over again into the name that's written in his palm.

_I'm sorry for wanting you to be someone else._

* * *

Tezuka doesn't cry.

But he says _I'm sorry_, too.

Although to whom, even he doesn't really know.

* * *

It's like this for the rest of the year, but Fuji doesn't cry, not anymore. Spending time with Tezuka and finding joy in his company feels innately wrong and there's always a little voice in the back of his head that's telling him that he shouldn't want him, shouldn't want _this_. He can't find the things he's searching for in Tezuka, Fuji knows this, too; the universe, or fate, or the gods laughing at them in the sky have all long decided that.

And he doesn't care.

Tezuka is going to _break him apart_, piece by piece, little by little. He knows this deep in his very core, in the essence that calls for someone else, someone who's not Tezuka, will never be Tezuka.

He doesn't care.

The only thing he's really not sure about this is whether he wants it to happen all at once, or make it last until the end of forever.

* * *

So, yes. There's one more and an epilogue. Also, my first shot at present tense! I just felt it would fit better for this story when I started writing it, even though I can't explain (or understand, quite frankly) my line of reasoning now. OTL

I'm heading to exams soon (or every single damned day, actually, what made me decide that I wanted this to be my life, I honestly don't even know anymore), so I'll have to wait for a few before I can post the next one (it still needs edits) as long as I actually do good in said exams :'( Wish me luck! -fist pump-

Um. Please tell me what you think? :)

/silverglitters


	2. second year

**AN:** I'm sorry for the long time between updates -cry- But I got really sick, and this chapter needed so much work, I swear I wrote this whole story down like in one afternoon, without caring overmuch about things like grammar or continuity, and just.. it was horrible when I finally got to sitting down and fixing it -exasperated sigh-

My major conflict: I had a lot of back and forth on whether I wanted to include Yuuta in this chapter, like I wrote and deleted and wrote and deleted things a million times, because I knew that if Yuuta got into this, he'd completely take over like more than half of it (and he did OTL). But you know, Yuuta is such a very big part of Fuji's life and I felt like I'd be cutting out one very important facet of Fuji if I took Yuuta out completely so there you are. This is my sort-of compromise (but not really) -sheepish-

**Warnings **(for this fic): It's fantastical and the timeline is seriously screwed in some places, so I ask you guys to please suspend reality for quite a bit while reading this. Be sufficiently warned.

^ I just needed to reiterate that because I've been rewatching Prince of Tennis and I found that there's actually many things I remember differently (I was young and naïve, my apologies).

* * *

**two.**

**second year**

* * *

Summer brings about changes, both welcome and not, and Tezuka stares at his reflection on the mirror in his room, stares at the _II_ that's now pinned to the lapel of his uniform, and contemplates exactly how much is different now.

He's grown, finally, gets that burst of growth that had him shooting up until he's no longer a child, but almost a man grown.

Almost.

And he looks at the name on his palm, the _Echizen Ryoma_ still bold and dark against his skin, the same as it has always been, one of the many things that hasn't changed. Tezuka folds his fingers over it, his chest tight and looks at himself at the mirror again.

He's grown-up, filled out, his mother never fails to comment on it at all times she could and he _wonders_.

It's the first day of his second year and he wonders what _Fuji_ will think.

.

He sees Fuji before tennis practice, standing by the open school gates, seeing off another boy, one who's already taller than him despite the first year uniform. The boy is scowling, his gaze averted, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else but here. Beside him, Fuji looks so very tiny, although he's grown, too; summer has treated him very well, the graceful lines of his body fluid even in small movements.

Tezuka quickens his pace, but before he even gets too close, the other boy has turned his back on Fuji completely, and has started to walk away.

He watches Fuji for a brief moment, pauses and watches as Fuji stares at the boy's retreating back, and begins to wilt, so forlorn and dejected, standing there alone in the entrance of their school, looking, for all the world, as if he was nursing a broken heart.

Tezuka watches him, and in a moment of complete, unadultered selfishness, he begins to hope, his fingers crushed into his palm, he _hopes_ that the boy Fuji had been speaking to is not Atobe Keigo.

_Not yet, not yet, please, not yet._

"Fuji," he greets, stopping beside Fuji's miserable form.

Fuji startles, looks up at him, his eyes still shaking with barely-supressed grief (_not yet, not yet, not yet_) and in a split second, his mask settles as he composes himself right in front of Tezuka's eyes. "Tezuka," he returns, in a small breathy voice, his lips curling into a teasing smile. "All grown up, I see. Now the outside matches how you are inside, ne?"

Tezuka fixes him a _look_. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"Oh, not at all," Fuji replies airily. His shuttered eyes crinkle at the corners. "Actually, I think it suits you very well."

"I-" He glances away, tries to fight the blush that's always trying to permanently etch itself into his skin whenever he's around Fuji and he forgets everything else, that there's a whole world outside this small space where he and Fuji are together, no matter what their definition of together is. "You, too."

"Oh," Fuji opens his eyes, and gives him the softest, gentlest look he's ever seen, and his chest _throbs_, aches with a longing and a want that he shouldn't even have, not in this world, not for this person.

But he _does_ want, he _does_.

This is real, and he _wants_, so much.

"Thank you, Tezuka."

.

"Oi, Fujiko," Eiji bounces from behind his soulmate, sailing acroos the clubroom and throwing his arms around Fuji just as he turns to smile at his best friend. Tezuka watches impassively, all the way from his own locker, so used to their antics after one year of having to live through them.

"Isn't Yuuta-chan supposed to start school today? Weren't you supposed to see him off?" Eiji babbles, hanging off of Fuji's neck while Fuji pats him good-naturedly. "You didn't even take him here to say hi, that's so mean!"

"Ah, well, Yuuta was in a hurry," Fuji answers, his smile stiff on his face. "And he knows the way to the clubroom so I think it will be fine."

"Mou, Fujiko!"

It's later, when he and Tezuka are observing the games together by Court A, that Tezuka says, "Yuuta?"

Fuji keeps his smile firmly in place, but he looks down a bit, and it's almost like he's wilting again, like all the colors that made him so unique, and so very precious, all of it is getting washed out little by little by his pain. Even as he tries to hide it, Fuji's pain stands out so clearly, as if he's unconsciously expressing it with every little movement, every little expression, every time Fuji decides to lie and pretend instead of telling the unvarnished truth.

"My brother," Fuji responds finally, his voice filled with a kind of sad fondness that Tezuka would never have used when talking about family. "You might have seen him. He was with me this morning."

Tezuka remembers the boy who had walked away, the boy Fuji now looks like he's _mourning_ over, and selfishly, _selfishly_, he feels that small part of himself that he hates exhale in relief that the boy wasn't Atobe Keigo, after all, come to take Fuji away too soon, always too soon.

He hates it, _hates_ the feeling, but he feels it anyway, and sometimes Tezuka wishes he isn't so human like that.

"Does he play tennis, too?"

"Ah," Fuji affirms. He doesn't say anything else, but his smile widens just a little. It accentuates his cheekbones, already catching the morning light in all the right ways, his honey hair framing his face like a halo. The smile doesn't look like it's one of those rare ones, the ones where the happiness he's painting for the rest of the world would reach his eyes.

He's beautiful, summer has treated him well, but he looks so very, very tired.

* * *

"I didn't see you after practice let out," Fuji grips his chopsticks and smiles down at his bowl of rice, trying to inner-mantra himself into the kind of headspace that would allow him to not be hurt by the strength of Yuuta's glare.

It doesn't work, but it's not like Fuji's not used to it anyway. "I was hoping we could walk home together."

"Because I want to be even _more_ associated with you?" Yuuta asks heatedly from across the table. "Why would I want that?"

They're alone for dinner again, their mother having flown to join their father abroad for a while, and Yumiko still held up at her work. Yuuta always uses that as reason to fall back on the habits he's taken up over the summer, pushing his food around the plate, but not really eating. Fuji watches him, the overwhelming worry like a heavy sinking feeling in his chest, and it feels as if he's trying to break into the surface but doesn't have the strength.

It's all he ever feels in conversations with Yuuta now is drowning. "Eat, Yuuta," he coaxes, as gently as he could.

Yuuta's expression sours even more, and his chopsticks clatter down into the table, the sound loud against the otherwise quiet house. "I don't need you to _babysit_ me, I am not a _child_."

"Of course not," Fuji responds, almost helplessly. "But you want to be strong for tennis, ne? Didn't you want to join the tennis club?"

"I changed my mind," Yuuta grits out, pushing himself away from the table with such force that the plates are displaced. "Like I'd ever want to play tennis with _you_."

He stomps up to his room and slams the door behind him, leaving Fuji alone in the dinner table, feeling like he's futilely trying to gasp for air.

.

Summer brings changes in the Fuji household, too, more unwelcome than not, and one night, Yuuta wakes up with the most _terrible_ screams, clutching at his hand like a lifeline. They break into his room to find him curled up on his bed, shuddering with the force of his sobs.

When Yumiko finally pries his hand away from the other's death grip, they'd had to watch as a name appears on Yuuta's palm, angry red against his skin, watch as the color darkens and darkens and then finally, after many hours of Yuuta crying so hard, he could barely breathe, they'd had to watch as the name on Yuuta's palm begins to fade, until nothing is left behind.

They're quiet for a very long while after that, because they all know what that means.

It means that somewhere, somehow, a girl named Kamakura Mai – _Yuuta's_ girl, _Yuuta's_ somebody – has passed away, and left Yuuta with a future of being alone.

Because in this world, you are only ever going to get one chance at complete belongingness, a complete happiness, a complete future. You only ever get one name on your palm and it's either you have that...

Or you have nothing.

Now Yuuta is nameless, has nothing, and his grief over a girl – a girl he doesn't know, has never gotten the chance to meet, a girl he had been destined to love for the rest of his life and now he _can't_ because she's _dead_ – fuels a rage so deep that it's turned Yuuta's whole being into stone.

Yuuta doesn't cry again after that day, and he doesn't wake the house anymore with screams in the middle of the night. He pushes them away and _hates_, and every day with him feels to Fuji like little deaths, agonizing and slow and completely, utterly unbearable.

At nights, when he's slammed the door to his room and locked it, shut away from the rest of his family, Fuji would creep out of his own bed and sit just right next to the closed door. The floor is cold against his flimsy pajamas, numbs his feet where they are propped against it, but he only hugs his knees tighter, buries his face into his arms deeper, and listens to the hollow, silent sound of heartbreak.

.

Fuji hears the rumors before he's even entered the hallway.

_Ne, ne, did you see? Fuji-kun's little brother is in Seigaku, too._

They're not so much rumors as they are comparisons.

_He's not joining the tennis club. _

He has no idea who started them.

_I heard that's because he's not as good at tennis as Fuji-kun is._

He can't pinpoint exactly _who's_ talking about them.

_He isn't much like Fuji-kun at all. He doesn't have his genius, or even his looks, such a pity._

He has no idea how they spread so far, so fast, or where all these people even get all these information.

_I heard he's __**nameless**_.

Fuji's spine stiffens and he turns, glares at the hallway of chattering students. He wants to rip out the throats of every single one of them, because they don't get it, they _don't_, and they don't get to make fun of Yuuta's pain, they don't have _any right_.

But the hallway is still full of talk, no one has stopped, and Fuji can't even tell the difference, can't tell which of them is talking about Yuuta, and which of them isn't.

So he turns back around, helpless and _drowning_, the whispers intensifying in his wake, and hopes so hard, prays to the gods that have only ever laughed at him, hopes in the way that he can't ever remember hoping since Tezuka first came into his life, he _hopes_ that these people at least have enough tact, enough compassion to not say all these things in a place where Yuuta can hear them.

.

They didn't.

There's no tact, no compassion, not even sympathy.

Fuji's never felt more like a mass-murdering sociopath in all his life.

.

He comes home from tennis practice one evening to find Yuuta dressed in another uniform, his bag slung over one shoulder. He's said his goodbyes to the rest of the family, and earlier in the week, he's sent over his other belongings to his new dorm, in a new school, a new place, away from Seigaku, and away from Fuji.

Fuji wants to beg him to stay, even irrationally go as far as quitting the tennis club because this is all his fault, so weak and helpless and such a very big failure that he can't even protect his own little brother from the poison of other people's thoughts.

But he can't, he knows, because staying would only hinder Yuuta's growth and he hates that it happens like this, hates himself just a little bit more because he let it happen. "You're leaving already?"

"Yeah." Yuuta doesn't meet his eyes, only hikes his bag up higher, and moves to the side when Fuji passes by him, like he dislikes the idea of them touching even the slightest bit. Fuji wants to say more, do more, but he keeps quiet, keeps his smile firmly in place until finally, the front door shuts behind Yuuta, and it feels like permanent goodbye.

Fuji stands there in the empty hallway, alone and _drowningdrowningdrowning_.

* * *

Once upon a time in the summer, Yumiko sits Syusuke down and tells him that they've got to take care of Yuuta from now on.

"Nee-san," Syusuke answers, looking at his hands, looking like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders, so sad, too sad for a boy of only thirteen. He's still so very young, both he and Yuuta were still so very young and Yumiko's heart _hurts_. "Yuuta _hates_ me."

"Syusuke, Yuuta _loves _you." Yumiko grasps her younger brother's thin shoulders, looking into his eyes and they're swimming with so much guilt, it pains her to see it. She wants to explain that Yuuta admires him, wants to be just like him, but it's hard, sometimes, it's hard to want to be someone and find that you both were so very far away.

That Yuuta loves Syusuke, only he doesn't know how to show it anymore than Syusuke doesn't know how to see it.

She wants to explain, but she doesn't know how, and everything feels like they're all the wrong words. So instead, she folds her younger brother into her embrace and wishes that it were enough to protect him from the rest of the world.

.

It's not.

But it often turns out that way.

* * *

The day after Fuji's younger brother leaves for another school, practice is cancelled because of the rain and Tezuka finds Fuji on the school rooftop, nevermind that Fuji's not even supposed to have the key.

For a moment, Tezuka just stands there, doesn't step out, because Fuji is very clearly mourning. These past few months, Tezuka's been watching Fuji slowly lose all his vibrance, lose all the life in his smiles, and Tezuka's wanted to help, to let Fuji know he's around but over the course of the past half-year, Fuji only gets more and more shuttered. It's frustrating and agonizing, because Fuji is slowly dying, losing everything that was once bright about him, _dying_ before Tezuka's eyes and all Tezuka can do is watch.

Tezuka tightens his grip on the umbrella, and decides he can't be a coward anymore.

Fuji's head is tipped back to receive the raindrops, his hair already plastered to his face, his lashes stuck in starlike points, fanned across the pale planes of his face. He's smiling, a little, and Tezuka's not surpised. Fuji has always found peace in the rain.

Tezuka hated the rain, hated how they soaked everything, how they stopped him from doing even the most basic things like getting to a court and playing a warm-up game. But as much as Tezuka hated the rain, he can tolerate it for Fuji.

Because... Because he loves Fuji (and it's love, even if it can't be, it's _love_), and the rain makes Fuji happy.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Fuji's smile only widens in response, and he tilts his head, opens stormy blue eyes to look at Tezuka, frowning at him disapprovingly from under the shelter of an umbrella. "Saa, no, I suppose not."

His face is streaked with moisture.

Tezuka watches him for a brief moment, watches him smiling at the sky almost bitterly, before he extends the umbrella so Fuji is protected from the rain. It's useless, he knows, Fuji is already so very soaked, and the only thing he achieves is getting himself wet. Fuji watches him steadily, shivering and sad.

"You've been crying," Tezuka tells him and Fuji laughs like he can't help it. He tilts his head, offers Tezuka a place by his side and Tezuka takes it even as Fuji lies.

"It's just the rain, Tezuka." He's not even trying, it's the most obvious lie in the world and he knows it.

But Tezuka allows him that, doesn't call him out on it, only sits beside him until the skies have stopped crying, and still he watches as the rain continues to pour in small crystalline droplets from Fuji's eyes.

.

"I won't give up."

"Hmm?" Fuji tilts his head, still drenched from head to toe, keeping his gaze firmly on the sun setting in the far horizon.

Tezuka doesn't look at him when he speaks, doesn't look at his hands, a reminder that he's wanting all the wrong things. "He's your brother and you love him, don't you?" he asks, watching the sky paint itself in brilliant hues of orange and gold. He knows that if he is to turn to his side, Fuji's hair would reflect the fiery colors, and the dimming light of the sun would be kissing his cheeks, as if nature itself understands just exactly how exquisite he is.

But he doesn't, because he doesn't need anymore reasons to love Fuji, not when there shouldn't be reasons in the first place. "If I was to love someone, I won't give up so easily."

There's a sharp intake of breath, and this time, Tezuka does look at Fuji, at the flames of sunlight bringing color back on his face. He's smiling, gentle and fond and so, so very heartbreaking, his eyes glistening with tears unshed and his countenance so fragile, it could shatter with a single breath.

"What?" Tezuka asks, suddenly self-conscious, and he feels the cool of the incoming night digging its way deep into his bones.

"Nothing," Fuji shakes his head, reaching out to touch Tezuka's hand where it lay between them both. It's a whisper of a touch, a bright spot against the numbness of the rest of Tezuka's skin and he wills himself not to shake. "I just like the way you sound, when you say you love someone."

There's a quiet resignation hidden in the gentleness of his voice, and Tezuka understands. He hesitates for only a moment, before his other hand settles on top of Fuji's own and Fuji's smile widens, gazing down at the space where their hands were entwined.

Tezuka understands, because even though Fuji likes it, likes the way he sounds when he says he loves someone, Fuji's never going to hear it for himself. Because someday he'll have to choose to not love Fuji. Someday he'll have to choose to love someone else without even being able to talk about the many beautiful things that Fuji has brought to his life because this is a love that's not supposed to exist, no matter how much Tezuka _wishes_.

It's in this moment that Tezuka realizes that one day, perhaps soon, because of Fuji, he will break his heart.

And that he doesn't want to fight it.

He'll break it himself and _enjoy_ it, bask in the feeling for five more minutes of having _this_, having something that couldn't possibly be love (but it _is_, it has to be, _pleasepleaseplease_, and he doesn't even know what he's asking for anymore), but that's beautiful in itself all the same.

.

The world moves on.

Fuji sits behind him in class, despite being only heaven knows how many centimeters shorter. He still lets Fuji steal pieces of his lunch. Tezuka becomes more captain than vice captain, and Fuji always looks ever so smug about that. They play tennis. They still have their thing in the ice cream shop, and Tezuka even lets Fuji order him different flavors sometimes. In return, Fuji would beam at him and order him tame flavors but tries to force feed Tezuka all his weird ones anyway.

They're not dates because they're not a couple, but in the deepest, darkest depths of Tezuka's heart, where he keeps all the desires he knows he's not meant to have, he pretends, pretends that there will be _something - _a miracle, an answer, a magical fairy godmother - and one day, it will be okay to continue loving Fuji; one day, Fuji will be his to keep and he will be Fuji's.

It's pitiful and pathetic and even so, it's the best of all lies.

* * *

It's in the Tokyo Prefectural tournament that it happens, like Fuji's being given a harsh slap of reality to his face, the universe's form of ugly punishment for Fuji living in blissful ignorance for far too long.

It's sudden and unexpected and Fuji freezes midstride, feeling as if there's not enough air to fill his lungs.

_The winner will be Hyotei! The winner will be Atobe!_

His eyes snap open and he looks around to find a tennis court completely encircled by a crowd of teens attired in a similar uniform, cheering in unison.

_The winner will be Atobe! Atobe! Atobe!_

His palm prickles, the skin on his face feeling as if it's pulled too tight. His heart hurts, a dull ache as it pumps _Atobe Keigo_ through his body again and again, and everything is so close, so tight, as if he's too big for his own skin and now he's ripping at the seams.

There's no doubt, _absolutely no doubt_, that the boy those students are cheering for is his Keigo. He feels it in the insistent _pull_ of longing in his soul, feels it in the way that his heart suddenly seems like it doesn't belong to him, not anymore, not when its rightful owner is but a few feet away, and _gods_, he feels it in his overwhelming desire to _move_, to close the distance, to _see_. He's about to find his soulmate, and it's meant to be the most momentous occasion of his life and yet, all Fuji could think of is _please no_.

Because there is Tezuka, and he is frozen, too, where he is, right beside him.

Fuji looks up to him, at his stony expression as he stares firmly straight ahead. "Tezuka?"

"He's yours, isn't he?"

But Fuji doesn't even have to answer. It's obvious, from Tezuka's blank tone, from the way it sounds more like a statement than a question that Tezuka knows, too, Tezuka _knows_, and it's the whole entire universe reminding them, in the worst way possible, that it was never going to end any differently.

That it's still Atobe and Echizen, not Tezuka-and-Fuji and they will never be a unit, no matter how much they pretend, how much they want it to be.

Fuji's about to find his soulmate, and all he wants to do is curl up into a ball and _cry_.

"Go," Tezuka urges, not even glancing at him once, before he starts to walk away. Fuji stands there, watching Tezuka's retreating back, and he _can't_.

He can't.

"Tezuka!" He rushes forward, grips the edge of Tezuka's jersey's sleeve and doesn't let go. Tezuka looks at him almost blankly, dispassionately and Fuji _hates_ it, all he wants to do is _make it stop_.

"Tezuka, _please_."

And Tezuka, understanding without asking like always, takes his hand, pulls him away and later, he holds him as Fuji shakes, gasping out tearless sobs, his soulmate's name still echoing in the air.

.

Fuji is placed on reserve for the Hyotei match, and that's all well and good because he doesn't go.

* * *

Tezuka watches him, _Atobe Keigo_, discreetly for the entire duration of doubles, and well into singles.

He looks good, objectively. He's the heir of the most established business group in Japan. He's richer than sin. He's popular. He's good at tennis. He soundly defeats Tezuka's captain and all the way, what feels like his entire school cheers his name.

He's Fuji's soulmate.

Tezuka _resents_ him, because no one should get to have everything.

.

Irrationally, Tezuka comes to Hyotei to repay the humiliating favor Atobe had bestowed on Seigaku. Atobe watches him, shrewd and calculating, the whole match long. He's watching his captain lose spectacularly and he's _smirking_, as if it's amusing him so very much.

Tezuka crushes Hyotei's captain, and still, he leaves Hyotei with the distinct feeling that he's been _beaten_.

.

Fuji is waiting for him when he returns to Seigaku, sitting on the bench of the deserted clubroom. His eyes are half-open, gazing down at where his fingers were tangled together in his lap.

"I've been going back and forth about this all week long," Fuji finally says softly, although he doesn't make any other indication that he knows that Tezuka is there. "And I just... You went to Hyotei, didn't you?" He lifts his head. He's trembling, and there's so much confusion in his eyes that it's a physical _pain_ for Tezuka to hold himself back, not to rush and fold Fuji into his embrace, like he's always, always wanted.

"You met my... You met Keigo." Fuji's breath hitches, and still he keeps his smile, with so much forced cheer, it's killing Tezuka to watch it. "Tell me, what's he like?"

And Tezuka, selfish, terrible Tezuka doesn't want to discuss it, doesn't want to talk about perfect Atobe Keigo, doesn't want to talk about how he's got his entire school on the palm of his hand, and now he's about to get Fuji, too.

Not when Fuji is sitting there, the light of dusk bathing him in the kind of radiance only he could ever belong in, and Tezuka _loves _him.

Even if Tezuka can't keep him, Tezuka _loves_ him, and he can't, he _can't_ talk about Atobe Keigo, not when he's all too real now, not when he's poised to take away the best dream Tezuka's ever lived in his life.

He pitches forward, slowly, one inch at a time, until they're sitting side by side, Fuji rigid and Tezuka a little less so. He stares at Fuji's lips the entire time, a perfect bow of a mouth, until Fuji's eyes flutter half-closed once again. They're not kissing, not yet, but they're breathing the same air and Tezuka brings his hand up to stroke Fuji's cheekbones, leisurely, unhurriedly, traces Fuji's precious face until he's caressing a perfect jaw, tipping Fuji's face to his.

There are tears now, trailing in uneven lines down Fuji's face and it's a wonder how someone so strong and so fierce could be so, so vulnerable.

Fuji's voice is quiet, when he whispers, "Please mean this," his breath fanning gently across Tezuka's cheeks.

Tezuka brings his other hand to cup Fuji's face, his focus narrowing down, down to the warm, shallow puffs of breath hitting his upper lip, to the smell of apples and cinnamon and something else so distinctly _Fuji_, to the flutter of Fuji's long lashes, to Fuji's mouth, full bottom lip slack and inviting and so, so close.

And he's so perfect, so _unbelievably _perfect, Tezuka's heart breaks and mends itself each time Tezuka sees his face, as if it needed to renew itself everytime, be recreated again and again because one lifetime is not enough to love someone like Fuji.

"Fuji, how could I not?"

_I love you_.

* * *

"Fuji, how could I not?"

And for a split second, Fuji can taste them, taste Tezuka's beautiful words on his own tongue, as if Tezuka breathes them right into his mouth, bittersweet but _real_ and it's happening, this is happening, Tezuka is pressing his mouth properly to his and the words disappear between them.

Fuji's breath hitches and he clings to Tezuka, lets himself be pushed backwards into the bench, raising his arms to tangle around Tezuka's neck, a bright solar flare of skin on skin.

The name on his palm burns, and it feels so very, very wrong, but it's so damn beautiful, it's too damn _beautiful_ that it just can't be wrong. Even if there's no connection, no _spark_, Fuji just melds their bodies together a little bit more, until he can feel his heart beating against Tezuka's own, until all he can feel is Tezuka, Tezuka, Tezuka. He breathes the name on his skin and Tezuka whispers his right back, right before Tezuka's lips find his once again.

He feels like he's drowing once again, but it's a drowning of a different kind, and he never wants it to stop.

.

Later that night, Fuji looks at himself in the mirror, his fingers on his lips. On the upturned palm on his desk, the name _Atobe Keigo_ remains unchanged, still bold and dark against his skin.

He thinks of the many kisses he and Tezuka traded in the clubroom, forbidden kisses, kisses that should never have been. He feels like his heart is teetering at the precipice, just the smallest push away from tumbling into the abyss.

And he knows it will fall, because this kind of love, the best and the worst of all lies, it _breaks_ things.

_But that's alright_, Fuji thinks, closing his eyes in resigned acceptance, Tezuka still a warm tingle in his veins, still palpable in the buzzing of his skin. For a moment, Fuji remembers the way they've touched and he wishes, fiercely, desperately, for _more_.

But mostly, he's just happy for what he's had.

_It's alright._

Some things were there to be broken.

* * *

So the promised epilogue is actually more a third chapter than an epilogue (very creatively and unpredictably named _third year_) and it's starting out worse than this one did, if you can believe it. So please be patient with me –bow- I'll try really hard, but being a professional sick person is not the most ideal occupation, honestly.

Plus, SOMEONE, I'm not gonna say who –coughLexycough- has gotten me into watching Free! and so I am now swimming in harurin feels (see what I did there? _Swimming_, ohohohoho). Honestly, I just can't with that anime. It should be illegal, only it shouldn't because then I can't watch it over and over on repeat anymore. The FEELS will kill you, ladies and gentlemen, a warning in advance. Ahhhhhhh XD -hair pulling- Those idiots will be the death of me one day, I swear on all that is good in this world. But until then... –rewatches first season all over again-

Drop by and tell me what you guys think, ne? I need the love~ Lol.

/silverglitters


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